Uncle?

Posted originally on the Archive of Our Own at http://archiveofourown.org/works/257715.

Rating: General Audiences

Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply
Fandom: Vorkosigan Saga - Lois McMaster Bujold, BUJOLD Lois McMaster -
Works
Additional Tags: alternative universe
Language: English
Series: Part 7 of The Peaceful Vorkosiverse
Stats: Published: 2011-09-27 Words: 1,727 Chapters: 1/1

Uncle?
by Bracketyjack

Summary

In which a clever lad gets his own way in the Celestial Garden. Not so easy when you live
there.

Uncle?

A clever lad gets his way in the Celestial Garden, Winter 2809

Dag Benin was deep in an intriguing annex to the enormous security aesthetics file on Zeta Ceta,
the chief sector-hub of the new volumes, when he was taken aback by a knock on his door. Rat-tat-
a-rat-tat. Bemused, he sat back. No-one knocked on his door—either they had appointments and
were buzzed through or they comconsoled. Haut Pel, it was true, had once breezed or rather blown
in unannounced to demand he recover a catnip-hungover Shuang-Mei from the upper branches of a
plane tree but she certainly hadn’t knocked, and anyway, the high haut resident in the Celestial
Garden didn’t come to his discreet office, but summoned him to attend them.

Whoever it was knocked again. Shave-and-a-haircut, thought Dag, but there were no two bits,
whatever they had once been. He reached out to com his secretary before realising he wouldn’t be
there at this hour on a restday, and instead pulled out the drawer where he kept a sidearm before
clearing his throat.

“Ah … come in.”

The door opened a crack.

“Uncle Dag?” To Dag’s complete surprise Prince Riahir’s head poked round the door. “Do you
have a moment? I want your advice, please.”

Uncle Dag? That was new, and he knew all too well where it had come from. It also presented
what might be a real problem, as well as a real opportunity, and withdrawing his arm after
reclosing the drawer he casually pressed the button that turned on his holorecording equipment.

“Of course, your Highness.” Riahir came in, a flimsy folded in his hand, but his face had fallen a
little with the honorific. So … “And what’s this ‘Uncle Dag’ business? A dangerous title to bestow
on me.”

The boy grinned, making him look younger than his thirteen standard years, but he still looked to
Dag like a haut crown prince. “Do you think Nikki a bad example, then? Uncle Miles would scold
you. Besides, look at it from my point-of-view—it’s a very useful technique. Should I not seek
advantage in it while I can?”

Dag swallowed a laugh. “That’s as maybe, your Highness. But think—a ghem as an uncle of any
haut, never mind of you!”

Riahir looked mulish and drew himself up a little. “And what ghem who matters could suppose it
other than a compliment, and so a metaphor?”

“Or what haut, Honoured Lord?” Which was how all haut now necessarily addressed Riahir when
in public. The boy grinned again.

“Point, uncle. And a good one. But frankly, if it makes some haut think, so much the better. The
new dispensation is already enough of a surprise to them ; better if my commitment to it is clearly
known, don’t you think?”

Dag blinked. In the normal order of things he didn’t have much occasion to deal with haut children,
even Riahir, save in organising physical security outside the Garden—an interesting task, of late.
He knew there’d been some quiet contact with Uncle Miles going on, and despite the initial
displeasure of the Handmaiden he had entirely approved the cunning hand that arranged for Riahir
to witness from safe distance a genuine encounter with pirates—but he had not quite anticipated
how adept a pupil the Prince was proving. Given the reversionary politics his Imperial Master’s
commitment to the Alliance had stirred up among those less than thrilled by developments, the
availability of Silvy Vale as a retreat for Riahir and his immediate household had already proven a
boon—but plainly Dag hadn’t focused sufficiently on the Barrayaran benefits of the arrangement.
Which is because you trust Miles. Oh dear. He made a swift decision.

“Fair enough, nevvy.” Riahir lost his grin, instead smiling shyly. “But be aware I’m recording this
for your Da and my Imperial Master, from whom I conceal nothing.”

Riahir nodded, but looked determined. “He won’t mind, but I haven’t cleared this with him because
doing that is what I wanted your advice about. I want to make the best case I can, you see, so I need
to understand the security and the politics as fully as possible.”

Dag blinked again. “How commendable. The best case for what, exactly?”

“Being allowed to accept this.” He handed the folded flimsy to Benin, who took it gingerly. “When
—and if—it officially arrives. Is there any reason it shouldn’t, Uncle Dag?”

THE GREGOR AND LAISA TOSCANE VORBARRA

 INSTITUTE FOR CETAYARAN HISTORIOGRAPHY

in the person of its President,

PROFESSORA HELEN VORTHYS, ISS

most respectfully invites

HIS IMPERIAL HIGHNESS CROWN PRINCE the haut RIAHIR GIAJA

to address at His Celestial pleasure its conference on

LORD VORTALON! : THE USES AND ABUSES OF PROPAGANDA

to be held at the Institute during the autumn of 2810.

Dag managed to swallow a splutter of laughter at the proposed subject, and contemplated Riahir
rather admiringly. Though Miles’s hand was perfectly visible, this, plainly, was Nikki’s work, and
Dag was willing to bet nephew-to-great-Aunt as well as Lord-Auditor-to-President pressures had
been employed somewhere down the line. A Vortalon conference, yet! The boy’s insatiable. But
there was that always informative, roman bit after the colon, and as with so many of Miles’s more
outrageous ploys, starting with that splendid invasion of Jackson’s Whole, if not at Dagoola, there
was a core of pure utility. So …

“The exact dates are flexible, I gather?” Riahir nodded. “Then that should not be a problem. And
provided you are either at the Imperial Residence, Vorkosigan House, the Embassy, or the Institute
itself, which is designed to be securable for VIPs, physical security is not a problem either. What
will matter is the politics, about which I have two questions.”

Riahir sat up straighter.

“First, what would you—Your Highness, yes?—use your address to say? A compact version,
please.”

Thoughts were visibly marshalled. “The thing is, Uncle, that Nikki is going to give the opening
speech, and will talk partly about his experience of the series as a whole, and more particularly
about the sequence involving the attack on General Slayer’s intelligence staff and the costs of
lacking military intelligence. I could choose to speak somewhere in the middle, or to speak last. In
the middle I would give as apolitical a paper as possible, citing the series as a means and topic of
communication for younger members of both imperia, and making a few jokes about its sillier
misrepresentations, both of the ghem and of the Vor. In that event, my presence would be the
politics, and unless someone very senior wished to do so the Professora would give the closing
address. But if I gave that plenary … I’d want to be less carefully apolitical, and ask some
questions about how imperial propagandas in general are to function within the Alliance. Friends,
after all, are more truthful than boasting with one another, aren’t they? But, is all still fair in love,
as once in war? I think We must indicate otherwise.” With the pronoun his eyes grew intent and
altogether imperial, however young the face around them. “You realise, Uncle Dag, that the
writers, producers, and stars will all be there?”

Dag’s antennae quivered but he stayed relaxed, letting a smile of approval show. And his question
is precisely elegant. “I imagine they will. What of it, nevvy?”

“I should challenge them, with a sweetening donation of some kind, and if Da agrees the free use
of some of our military resources for the sake of authenticity, to make a coda to the series,
incorporating what they have learned during the conference, and over the last five years.”

Dag came upright, mind suddenly whirling. The reception of Lord Vortalon! among the children of
the ghem and their parents—not to mention the haut—had not been exactly free of friction, or even
incredulous spluttering and vehement protest, but it had not occurred to him that anything might be
done about it at the Barrayaran end. And this was an idea with ever so many ramifications …

“What was your other question, uncle?”

“Eh?” Dag pulled his mind back together. “Oh, I suspect you have anticipated it. What other ghem
—and haut?—are invited? Or if you prefer, who will hear you first-hand?”

“Not the same question, uncle. The Professora and Uncle Miles want to framecast the conference to
schools ; here as well, if we permit, so very many might hear me first-hand. But the invited
delegates will certainly include senior ghem academicians in history, politics, communications, and
cultural studies, plus the military researchers, of course. As to haut, besides some of my own age
and circle, mostly whoever may be on Barrayar at the time—haut Paramel, of course, and the
genetic and aesthetic historians appointed to the Institute staff. Including haut Auselon, who will by
then have started his tenure as a visiting fellow at the Institute.”

Dag’s admiration was renewed. The haut Auselon Kemire was not only very senior in his Eta
Cetan constellation but had been troublingly prominent in suggesting that even golden
opportunities might be taken too far ; his appointment to a Visiting Chair in Genaesthetics was the
result of some exceptionally deft manoeuvring by his Imperial Master that Dag had enjoyed
watching. Dealing with the Crown Prince’s attendance at a Lord Vortalon! conference early in that
Visit could be salt in a wound, and militated against letting Riahir go—yet the proposed challenge
to recontextualise the series and implicitly to offer a Celestial rebuke (however wrapped in a
generous production subsidy) to its more egregious misrepresentations of Cetagandan thinking and
ghem culture was a clever sweetener. And more, especially if Miles is backing such a rebuke …
The political calculations became very nice indeed. This conference could and probably would
affect a variety of plans affecting haut governance, and Dag realised simultaneously that Riahir
must know considerably more about those plans than he had supposed and exactly why the Prince
had brought it to him before asking his father. He looked up to find Riahir examining him intently.

“Just so, uncle. I truly wish to do this, but I would like to make only convenient waves. Do you
approve?”

Dag nodded, smiling. “I rather think I do, nevvy. Tell me whatever you know about the likely
Barrayaran delegates and then we’ll go and ask your Da if my Imperial Master approves.”

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